


free inside your own hell

by rosecolouredgirl



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Background Relationships, Ed-centric, Excessive Description of Human Anatomy, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kristen Kringle Lives, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Character(s), Murder, Past Abuse, Sarah Essen Lives, Torture, ed kills abusers :), tags will be added accordingly as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-03-07 12:07:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18872902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosecolouredgirl/pseuds/rosecolouredgirl
Summary: That settles it. Ed is going to kill Joseph Nashton, but he won't until he perfects his craft. Until he finds the perfect method, the perfect environment, the perfect riddle.





	1. and i can't fight this feeling anymore

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this](https://hexgh0ul.tumblr.com/post/184866546260/im-gonna-be-real-with-yall-i-loved-almost-every) amazing post (thank you so much for allowing me to use parts of this idea!!)
> 
> I've always been upset Gotham never mentioned or really referenced much to Ed's abuse, considering that's what gave him the quirks that turned him into the Riddler. So this is essentially what I wanted Ed's journey to the Riddler to be on the show.
> 
> Btw, nygmobs is not gonna be here from the start, but they will happen I promise (for y'all here for them)!!
> 
> Story and chapter titles from one of my favorite songs "Motel" by Meg Myers :)

Ed grins as he carries his little snack towards the archive room. He chopped the watermelon himself in the lab and he is quite proud of himself for doing so. As he's turning the corner, he opens his mouth to call Kristen's name.

 

Instead, he's greeted by Officer Dougherty cornering Kristen against a cabinet. She refuses to make eye contact with him, staring down at her shoes with her arms crossed over her stomach. "So, you forgive me?" he says.

 

"Mm-hmm," she hums quickly, still very interested in the floor tiles apparently.

 

He chuckles and turns towards Ed, who's standing helplessly in the doorway. "How's it hanging, Riddle Man?" he asks, taking a piece of watermelon from Ed.

 

"Uh, it's hanging," Officer Dougherty is gone before Ed can finish his thought, "fine."

 

Kristen clears his throat. "Mr. Nygma, did you need something?" she asks.

 

Ed racks his brain for a moment. "Oh. Yes. Detective Gordon wanted me to go through the forensic evidence of these old murders." he stammers.

 

She nods and rolls her sleeves up as she begins to dig through a drawer. Ed's heart drops into his stomach when he spots mean purple and yellow bruises bespeckling her forearms.

 

"Are— are those bruises?" he asks, unable to tear his eyes away.  _ No. Not her. _

 

Kristen gasps and realises what she's done. She covers her arms with her sleeves again and clears her throat. "Uh…"

 

"Did Officer Dougherty do that?" he adds, despite already knowing the answer.

 

"Um, he was upset, and he didn't mean to," All of the hairs on the back of Ed's neck stand up; this is all too familiar to him, "I—I said some things I shouldn't have, and—"

 

He cuts her off, feeling bile rising in his throat, "Miss Kringle, this isn't right. He can't just—"

 

She sighs. " _ Mr. Nygma, _ " her voice raises slightly before dropping down again, "It is none of your concern. Now, I—I need to get started on these files, so…" She turns away from him.

 

Ed rushes to his office, nausea ripping through his entire body. He locks the door, placing his watermelon treat on the counter haphazardly. He falls to his knees, sobs beginning to rack his body uncontrollably as tears stream down his cheeks. He removes his glasses and drops them to the floor.

 

It all hurts too much. He remembers every bit of what Kristen is experiencing; taking the blame, making flimsy excuses, attempting to conceal the marks to avoid pity,  _ forgiving them _ . How pathetic is he? Blubbering on the floor at his workplace like a child.

 

Ed presses his hands over his mouth, trying to stifle his noises. It would be absolutely  _ humiliating _ if someone heard. All his coworkers would never let him forget it. Add  _ crybaby _ or  _ weakling _ to the list of names they address him by:  _ freak, loser, weirdo, psycho… _

 

After maybe fifteen more absolutely woeful minutes, Ed wipes away his tears and splashes cold water on his face, pressing his fingers under his eyes to alleviate the puffiness.

 

He has to find Dougherty.

* * *

"They need a firm hand. That goes double for Kringle. Girl's got a tongue." Ed feels his earlier nausea returning as he stares up at Officer Dougherty, who is brandishing a smug smile as the least threatening employee of the GCPD threatens him. He remembers that explanation, one etched into his brain by his father.

 

" _ You got a smart mouth, Edward. You need to learn when to shut it. _ "

 

" _ You and your mother, the exact same; cheating bitches who need to be taught a  _ lesson."

 

"I won't let you hurt her." is all Ed can manage through gritted teeth.

 

Dougherty scoffs. "Oh yeah? What are  _ you _ gonna do?" Silence. "That's what I thought." He pushes past Ed, continuing down the stairs, but not without calling over his shoulder, "Later, Riddle Man."

 

Ed clenches his fists angrily, watching as the cop joins his friends on the other side of the room, laughing raucously at something someone said. What  _ is  _ he going to do about it? He isn't a cop, he doesn't know how to fire a gun, he's quite sure reporting Dougherty to Essen will just make everything worse (reporting it always did make it worse).

 

One thing he does know is how great he is at puzzles. The human body is just one large puzzle of muscle and bone and tissue; one he's mastered after years of forensic work. While he may not be a brute like the rest of his coworkers, he knows a lot about dead bodies. How to dispose of one properly, how to clean up evidence, he knows the common mistakes murderers make and how to avoid them.

 

He knows what he must do now.

* * *

Ed plans everything intricately in his head. Kristen typically gets home at around five-thirty to five-forty-five. She's planning on having Officer Dougherty over for dinner at six. However, judging at the times Dougherty tends to clock in at work, he would actually arrive at least five minutes past. When Dougherty arrives on Kristen’s street, Ed will get out of his car and attempt to convince him to leave Gotham. He’ll bring a knife, maybe the threat of a weapon will persuade him. Then, Kristen will be safe.

 

The forensic scientist clocks out early, citing a family related issue. He's never been good at lying, likely as a result from having the truth beat out of him as a kid, but he finds himself explaining it to Essen effortlessly. Maybe because it isn't a complete lie, it  _ is _ family related, just not in the way the captain believes it is.

 

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel and bounces his leg as he waits outside Kristen's apartment in his car. Fifteen minutes and still no Dougherty.

 

Maybe he miscalculated. Somewhere in his mental map of this scheme, he accidentally switched details around. He sighs and moves to turn his key and start his car--

 

Lazy footsteps get closer and closer on the opposite side of the street. Ed glances in his side mirror.  _ Bingo. _ A tipsy Officer Dougherty is making is way down the street, hands in his pockets and feet sliding against the ground.

 

“Stop right there, buster!” Ed calls out as he gets out of his car, slamming the door a little too hard.

 

Dougherty turns toward him and squints through the darkness. “Riddle Man?” he laughs drunkenly, “What the hell are you doing, creeping around here?”

 

“You need to leave Miss Kringle alone,” Ed says, cursing himself for letting his voice quiver, “I’m not gonna let you hurt her. Ever again.” He feels like crying. Why didn’t he account for his stupid emotions while planning this out? “I think you need to leave Gotham. Tonight.”

 

Dougherty cackles, starting to inches closer. Ed instinctively takes a couple steps back. “I get it now. You got a thing for my girl. That’s too funny.” Ed becomes too terrified to move as the much stronger man begins to invade his personal space.

 

“Don’t take this personal.” Before the scientist can ask what that means, the officer punches him in the stomach. Ed doubles over, coughing and groaning as he clutches his stomach. He falls to his knees in front of Dougherty.

 

“Aw, want some more?” Ed retrieves his knife from his jacket pocket, wheezing slightly. “Upsy-daisy.” Just as Dougherty is lifting Ed up to deliver another jab, Ed stabs his knife into Dougherty’s abdomen. He grunts as he reaches down to feel where he was injured.

 

Ed stabs him again, crying out with every thrust of the blade into the abuser’s body. As soon as he loses count, he stops, Dougherty now gushing blood on the pavement. “Riddle Man…” He slumps to the ground with a sickening thump.

 

“Oh, dear. Oh, no,” Ed mutters to himself, staring down at the body. He glances at his dirty hands and the bloodstained blade in his hand, “Oh, dear.” He lets out a manic laugh of panic, beginning to hyperventilate. He feels as if he can’t get enough air, panting as he stumbles back. “Oh, dear. Oh, dear.”

 

Ed crouches down and places his index and middle finger on Dougherty’s neck. Nothing. He moves down to find the pulse point in his wrist. Still nothing. He presses his ear to the back of Dougherty’s jacket. Silence. The police officer is dead. Ed killed a police officer.

 

He closes the knife and places it in his pocket. “Oh my, Officer Dougherty. I apologise for my behavior,” he says to the corpse as he lifts the body by the armpits. He unlocks the trunk of his car and drops it in, the entire car rattling in response.

 

Ed sits in the driver’s seat and exhales slowly, shutting his eyes. Officer Dougherty is dead, in Ed’s trunk. His stomach is filled with butterflies as he stares at the steering wheel and the bloody fingerprints he’s left. Besides his anxiety, he feels something else, something exciting.

 

Tom Dougherty reminded Ed so much of everything he grew up with. He had said and done so many things his father had; saying women needing a firm hand, saying abuse is deserved, demeaning Ed until his anger and frustration had bubbled over, probably the reason his plan went so awry. To Ed, killing Dougherty feels like he killed a piece of his father and a piece of what his father holds over him. He smiles to himself in the dark car and starts the engine.

After he drops the body somewhere safe, he can come back and clean the crime scene of his and Tom’s DNA. He feels a rush of adrenaline as he drives away from Kristen Kringle’s street.


	2. and i can't fight the pain, it only grows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went a little teeny bit overboard with description of anatomy near the end... I read one .edu page and thought I was an expert apparently.
> 
> Sincerest apologies to the FBI agent in my computer for seeing my search history while doing research for this :/

No one notices anything different with Ed. No one notices him slacking a little on cases or him coming in at five in the morning and leaving at eleven or even him dropping hints about Dougherty. He's almost offended; he got rid of a _monster_ , why is everyone still treating him like garbage?

 

The murder has definitely changed him. He’s had some thoughts creeping up occasionally of doing it again; of killing someone before they can hurt those weaker than them. People like his father who demeaned and bullied him until he felt he could no longer exist.

 

Kristen asks about Dougherty, causing Ed to falsify a note to her. Unfortunately, he couldn't help but have the first letter of every line spell his last name. He grins to himself in the lab as he thinks of it. Ed feels absolutely superior, he knows something that no one else does.

 

However, Ed's elation comes to an end on a crowded Thursday night. He's already locked himself in the lab because of all the noise in the bullpen overloading his senses, but a distinct cry breaks through the commotion and catches his ear.

 

It's pained and high pitched, followed by a man's thunderous shouting. Ed remembers both of these sounds very clearly. He pulls himself out of the corner of the lab and presses his fingers inside his ears, hoping to muffle the ruckus outside. He maneuvers the door open with his foot and walks slowly towards the clamor.

 

A detective is attempting to restrain a tall, pot-bellied man in pajamas as he screams at a battered young woman and a young boy in her arms. Ed's heart aches as he watches the woman and her baby cower in fear from the man.

 

He remembers a stringy woman with her hands firmly on her son's shoulders, standing in the corner quivering as an average built dentist throws empty bottles at the floor just to watch his family flinch. Ed squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head vigorously, trying to get the memory out.

 

The woman and her baby are finally ushered into an interrogation room while the man is wrangled into a holding cell. Even with his ears plugged, Ed can still hear him yell, " _You can't hide, bitch! I'll get you and the little brat too!_ "

 

Ed runs back to his office, shaking like a leaf. The door and walls cushion the commotion, thankfully, and he feels as if he can finally breathe again. He rubs his eyes underneath his glasses, pacing slightly. He recites tongue twisters in his head to relax himself.

 

_Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers. A peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked. If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers? Where's the peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked?_

 

He exhales slowly, anger replacing his panic. How could people be so cruel to hurt their family? Family is supposed to be full of love and support, not fists and swears. The Joseph Nashtons and Tom Doughertys of the world didn't seem to get the memo.

 

Ed finishes his task at hand, dissolving Dougherty's body, making a mental note to find the file on that man later.

* * *

Kristen has gone home by the time Ed gets to the archives room, much to his dismay, but he tries to push the records keeper out of his mind. A pile of recent files sit on Kristen's desk, likely having arrived after she left.

 

He flips through the manila file folders, searching for the man whose face is now burned into his mind.

 

 _Terrance Coleman_.

 

He's a repeat offender, having been booked several times for domestic disturbance and public intoxication. The woman is his wife, Maria Coleman, and the baby is their 17-month-old son, Zachary Coleman.

 

He clenches the folder in his hand so hard, he slightly crumples the files. Terrance also reminds Ed of his father; the drinking problems, abusing his wife when he couldn't abuse his son, and having run-ins with the law. Only, Ed's father was never put on file because of social status.

 

"Mr. Coleman, I think I should pay you a visit," he mumbles to himself. He gathers his supplies; gloves, bleach, and a knife. He didn't need much, after all, it’s his job to find and analyze evidence. He knows what to get rid of and how to do so.

 

The drive is a tense twenty minutes of Ed checking his rear-view mirror every twenty-three seconds and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He hums different songs under his breath, names all the elements on the periodic table, and even comes up with a few riddles to ease his mind. Murderers shouldn’t have nerves like this.

 

He drafts the act in his head while driving. He works for the GCPD so he can say he read his file and had some questions, all true, meaning Ed shouldn’t have a problem saying it. Maybe he could convince Terrance to let his wife and son go into another room and not have to witness his death. The woods behind their house is dense enough for him to be concealed, where he can place the body in his plastic lined trunk. He can worry about disposing of the body once he gets back to the lab.

 

Ed parks amid the trees. He takes a deep breath and wipes his sweaty palms on his thighs. Putting his gloves on and slipping his knife into his pocket, he begins the short walk to the house. As he nears the run-down house, he hears baby Zachary screaming and crying, accompanied by his parents arguing.

 

Ed shudders, remembering when his parents used to argue, throwing pots and pans in the kitchen about who suffered more because he lives. He knocks twice and takes a step back, shoving his hands in his pockets.

 

The door swings open and Terrance is glowering at Ed through the screen door. “Who the hell are you?”

 

“Uh,” Ed gulps and flashes his work ID, “I work at the GCPD. I saw your file and had, um, questions.”

 

He eyes Ed wearily before stepping aside and letting him. The house is just as broken-down inside than it is outside. Grime and dust covers old furniture and the peeling wallpaper, there's dried up mud shoe prints on the floor by the front door, and dead house plants everywhere.

 

Ed progresses slowly to the living room, squeezing his eyes shut when Terrance screamed up the stairs for his wife to come down. "Actually, it's better if it's just the two of us," he says quickly, almost tripping over his words.

 

Terrance looks suspicious, but follows his guest into the living room. Ed sits on the edge of an armchair, pressing his hands under his thighs to hide the gloves (and to protect his pants from the likely roach infested furniture). The much larger man sits on the couch across from him. “You don’t look like a cop, kid,” he says, “You look like a pencil with glasses.”

 

“Oh, uh,” Ed shifts slightly, “I actually work in forensics.”

 

Terrance scoffs. “Makes sense. You look like one of those science geeks.”

 

That is another thing Ed’s father used to do. He’d consistently reinforce the idea that men in fields of science or math were somehow lesser than those in more physical fields. He was absolutely infuriated when his son started showing an advanced interest in forensics and puzzles.

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“Well, you’re skinny. You have the tiniest amount of muscle, if you have any at all. You’re shrinking in on yourself, like a wuss. Means you haven’t seen much live action,” the older man answers. The unneeded commentary only caused Ed to feel angrier and angrier. If this is how he treated a random stranger, he couldn’t imagine how he treats those in his house.

 

Ed clears his throat. “Back on the reason for my visit,” he snaps, “I found your file after your little… _altercation_ today. It says you’ve been arrested multiple times for domestic disturbances. Can you elaborate on what those disturbances are?”

 

“What the hell is this for?”

 

“Oh, just my curiosity.”

 

Terrance gives Ed a skeptical look before speaking. “Just nosy neighbors who can’t mind their own damn business. My wife and I get in small squabbles from time to time and those sons of bitches think I don’t know how to handle my own woman.”

 

“What do you mean by ‘handle’ her?” Ed asks, internally regretting it when he receives an answer.

 

“Some women just need a firm hand.” The smug smirk on his face only enrages Ed further. Dougherty had said that to him before and so had his father. It makes him absolutely sick.

 

“Well. I think that’s all I needed to know.” Ed stands and brushes off his pants. Terrance also stands, extending his hand for a shake. Instead, the scientist reaches into his pocket and flips open his knife. In one swift motion, he plunges the blade into Terrance’s head. 

 

The knife enters right beside the hinge of the man’s jaw. Ed presses it deeper until he hears a light, almost cartoonish pop, blood spraying out the wound. He has severed both the external and internal carotid arteries. The internal carotid artery delivers blood to the brain while the external carotid artery delivers blood to the face and neck. By puncturing them, the man should bleed out in a few minutes.

 

“Riddle me this, Mr. Coleman. I have no end and am the ending of all that begins, what am I?” he spits icily, seeing the anger and panic flash in the older man’s eyes. The riddle is simply a compulsion, but it feels right, getting the last word, proving his superiority once and for all.

 

Ed pulls the knife out and watches as Terrance clutches the wound, crumbling to his knees. A crimson stream of blood pours from his neck and down his arm as he bleeds out. Ed stares at the corpse, chest heaving. Once the blood flow stops, he pockets his knife and crouches down, to check the pulse points on his victim’s neck and wrists. Nothing.

 

He rolls Terrance up in the rug in his living room, mopping up the blood with towels in the house. He painstakingly drags the carpet out to his trunk, mumbling all the elements on the periodic table to distract himself. “Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium, boron, carbon…” he rambles, ignoring the metallic scent of blood in the air.

 

Ed has to reenter the house silently to clean up any other evidence he can find; he wipes down the chair he sat in, every stain that had the slightest red tint to it, and the bottoms of his shoes. Just as he’s shutting the door, he sees Maria at the top of the stairs, watching him. When he makes eye contact with her, she nods ever-so-slightly and walks back towards Zachary’s nursery.

 

That look sticks in Ed’s mind the whole drive home. Is she going to turn him in? She didn’t say anything or try to stop him, maybe she was glad? He taps his fingers on the steering wheel to a rhythm he just made up as he parks in his usual spot. Thankfully, none of his neighbors like nor care about him so he receives no disturbance as he lugs the rug up the stairs.

 

Once the door is locked, Ed tosses his current pair of rubber gloves in the trash and puts a new pair on. He ties an apron over his clothing and rolls his sleeves up, grabbing the tools he’d taken from the lab.

 

He unfurls the rug, flipping the body onto its back. Terrance’s cold green eyes are still wide open, pupils dilated in fear. It fills Ed’s chest with a sick sense of joy at the thought of someone so dangerous and feared being afraid of dumb little Ed.

 

“Bye-bye, Mr. Coleman,” Ed says, chuckling to himself as he picks up the bone cutter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment so I can tattoo them on the inside of my eyelids.


	3. your dreams slowly turn against you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed sees a familiar face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: this story will differ greatly from ed's actual story on the show. the split personality storyline is two face's, not the riddler's, so i'm making some changes. for this reason, mirror!ed takes on a new form here.
> 
> this one heavily features mentions and implications of physical, verbal, and psychological abuse, less murder. so if any of that bothers you, idk why you clicked on this fic, but this just might not be for you :(

A perk of being practically invisible is the fact that Ed can easily move bodies in and out of the GCPD for disposal. Getting rid of Terrance Coleman was as easy as getting rid of Dougherty, especially since Maria Coleman ended up not saying a word to anyone about what she saw. Instead of dissolving the body, he instead burned his fingerprints off and pulled Terrance’s teeth, so identification would be difficult, before burying the decayed remains deep in the woods.

 

As Ed sanitizes his tools in the lab, he’s interrupted by shouting and panicked running in the hallway. He pokes his head out the door to see Doctor Thompkins rushing Barbara Kean into the medical examiner's office. Jim is close behind, a blood soaked bandage wrapped tightly around his palm. 

 

"Detective?" Ed asks.

 

Jim turns and gives the most half-assed ‘polite’ smile possible. "Ed."

 

"What's going on?"

 

"We found the Ogre and where he was keeping Barbara," he answers, "Thanks for the help with the evidence earlier, by the way." It's the most insincere compliment ever uttered, but Ed doesn't care. He'll take all the praise he can get, especially from his coworkers.

 

Ed grins. "Of course, Detective Gordon. Anything to help."

 

Jim flashes that apathetic hardly-a-smile and follows Lee into the office, closing the door. Ed sighs and reenters the lab, resuming his clean up. Perhaps if Detective Gordon knew about Tom Dougherty and Terrance Coleman, things would be different. Maybe he'd finally get some respect for ridding the world of not one, but  _ two _ abusers. After all, Jim Gordon is quite the fan of justice.

 

The bullpen is chaotic, another rough night of tackling perps into holding cells and half-drunk cops screaming at each other. Ed locks up the lab and collects his things, plugging his ears as he walks to the door, getting in the car to drive home. Just as he's about to start the engine, his phone vibrates with an email.

 

_ Hilltop Elementary Alumni Association,  _ reads the sender line.

 

He gasps, a little melodramatically in his opinion, and throws his phone into the passenger's seat. How the hell did they find him? When Ed ran, he changed his name, his number, his email, his  _ everything _ ; how is this happening?

 

Ed presses his fingers into his eyes, trying to calm himself down. Just because his old elementary school is emailing him, does  _ not _ mean they know where he is. That does  _ not  _ mean Ed's family has a chance of finding him.

 

He takes a deep breath and reads the email.

 

_ Dear Edward Nashton (class of 1999), _

 

_ The Hilltop Elementary Alumni Association would like to induct you into the academic hall of fame for your achievements in the forensic science field. Reply to this email for details. _

 

_ Regards, _

_ Myrtle Jenkins _

_ Hilltop Elementary Alumni Association _

 

Ed scoffs and deletes the email, deactivating the account for good measure. As if he'd ever go anywhere near that godforsaken town after eighteen years of turning a blind eye to the glaringly obvious abuse happening inside his home.

 

He finally starts the engine and heads towards his apartment. After backing into his usual parking spot, he spots an eerily familiar car parked in front of him. A sand colored 1989 Dodge Raider. The exact same car Ed's father drove.

 

His heart jumps in his chest. Ed wipes his sweaty palms on his thighs before getting out to examine the car closer. This car is a lot more banged up than Joseph Nashton's; its windows are scratched, there's a noticeable dent on the bumper, and a scratch on the side where the paint has been chipped off.

 

He sighs in relief, cursing himself for being so paranoid. Every time he did something that he knew his father wouldn’t approve of, his paranoia only got worse. Everything he’d see or hear only reminded Ed of his father. “Jeez, Ed, use your brain,” he mutters as he takes his bag out of the trunk of his car, “He’s way too busy to drive all the way out here to find you. You’re fine. Don’t be an idiot.”

 

The stairwell to his apartment reeks of booze. Ed always smelled something sour when standing in that hall, but he never put a name to the scent. He scrunches his nose in disgust and unlocks his door, desperate to escape it. Ed's childhood was haunted by that stench; both his parents drank, meaning his house always smelled  _ horrendous _ .

 

He shakes his jacket off quickly, dropping like a hot potato, as if it would get rid of the appalling smell stuck in his nose. Ed places his bag on the hook, eventually circling back and also hanging his jacket up (although, he did hold his breath rather childishly while he did so). He sighs and rubs his eyes until little stars and lines flash behind his eyelids.

 

It’s been five years since his father even crossed Ed’s mind; working at the GCPD gave him a routine to distract him of any thought about Joseph Nashton, but now that he’s deviated from his usual procedure, he could no longer suppress the lingering fear of his father somehow finding him and hurting him.

 

He gives himself a firm tap on the forehead with his fingertips. “Stop that. You’re fine, Ed, don’t be a  _ moron _ ,” he hisses under his breath, shaking his head, “You’re not an idiot, no matter what that man said.”

 

For a man in his mid-twenties who works full-time, Ed plays video games a little too much. Primarily puzzle games (Scribblenauts is his personal favorite), to keep his brain limber while he's away from the job. That's how he spends the rest of his emotionally exhausting evening, playing a children's game on his DS under the covers.

* * *

Ed wakes up to the potent smell of alcohol, only this time instead of coming from the hall, it's inside the apartment. He groans and rubs at his nose, recoiling. The source of the smell seemed to be an average sized male figure seated on Ed's couch.

 

He puts his glasses on and freezes when he processes who it is. Clear as day, sipping whiskey straight from the bottle like a cliche antagonist, is Joseph Nashton himself. "I thought I told you all this science bullshit is for sissies," he says, as if it's completely normal for him to be there, "I'd rather cut my own dick off than drink out of a fuckin'  _ beaker. _ "

 

Ed can't move. His arm trembles from the exertion of holding himself up, but he is unable to do anything but stare in absolute terror. Instead of his heart racing, he almost feels as if it's dropped into his stomach. Oh my goodness, what if he goes into shock?

 

"Didn't I tell you that it's rude to stare?" Joseph snaps, "Christ, you've been away for seven years and you've forgotten everything I taught you."

 

"What are you doing here?" Ed manages, sitting up. He doesn't want his arm to collapse under him.

 

"I'm here because I've heard you've been bad," his father places the bottle on the coffee table, "Stabbed that poor cop to death, murdered that man in his own home…" he tuts, "You really are a freak, huh? No matter how hard I tried to fix you, it never took."

 

Ed rubs at his eyes. "No."

 

Joseph stands and Ed swears his heart completely stopped. "Get up." Ed obeys, his lithe frame trembling.

 

"Officer Tom Dougherty," his father states, "Explain what you did."

 

Ed gulps. "I went to his girlfriend's house and waited for him to arrive. Before he could get inside, I confronted him. He assaulted me and I killed him."

 

"How did you feel?"

 

"Scared. I didn't mean to kill him," Ed says as he stares at his sock-clad feet, terrified to see his father's reaction. It's silent for a few moments and Ed swears he could hear a pin drop.

 

"Liar," Ed’s head snaps up at the reaction, “All those years of trying to fix you and you’re still the same lying moron I remember.”

 

The scientist feels like he’s about to pass out from the sheer amount of pure terror filling his body. “I'm… I'm not lying, sir, I—I swear. I was horrified, I didn't want to kill him," he stammers, his mouth moving faster than his brain.

 

Joseph shakes his head. "Sure, you didn't mean to kill that man, but that wasn't all you felt," he cracks his knuckles, a sight and sound that nearly made Ed pass out, "Now, tell me the truth, Eddie. How. Did. You. Feel?"

 

Ed wipes his clammy palms on his pajama pants as his gaze returns to the floor, nothing more scary to him in that moment than making eye contact with his father. “I…” he squeezes his eyes shut, “I liked it. I wanted to do it again, and I did.”

 

“You’re such a freak,” Joseph cackles, “A fuckin’ murderer.” He takes a swig from his bottle.

 

Ed rubs his eyes and adjusts his glasses. This isn’t supposed to happen. He’s supposed to have the life he’s dreamed of since he was a child; away from his family, away from his hometown, away from his past. His father shouldn’t be here. He  _ can’t _ be here.

 

“Those men deserved it,” he blurts, “They hurt people they claimed to love, they deserved to die.”

 

Joseph takes exactly two steps closer. Ed feels sick. “That  _ is _ love, Eddie. Grown-up love. For  _ normal _ people. Not for you,” he says, “What about me? You think  _ I _ deserve to die for showing my love for you and your whore mother in a physical way?”

 

Ed shuffles his feet and takes the slightest step back. “Yes,” he mumbles, “What you did isn’t right.”

 

“Oh, you little brat,” the older and bigger man steps closer into Ed’s personal space, “All I ever did was try and teach you right from wrong. But you never learned, did you? You’re still the same stupid ol’ Eddie, who’d cry and cower in the corner or hide under his bed. Your fancy schmancy job at the GCPD? You don’t deserve it. I bet you didn’t earn it. Did you  _ cheat again _ , son?”

 

“No,” the scientist states, clenching his fists so hard he can feel his nails dig into the skin, “I don’t cheat. I never have.”

 

“ _ Liar. _ ”

 

Ed covers his head with his hands and braces himself. Instead of striking him, Joseph just chuckled and stepped back, picking the bottle off the coffee table. He screws the cap on, shaking his head. “Just remember. You’ll  _ never _ escape from me.  _ Ever _ . And you’ll never escape from yourself. No matter what you do, you’ll always be the same old stupid, lying, cheating little—”

* * *

Ed shoots up in his bed, sweat dripping down his body. Tears are falling down, staining his cheeks as he squints, looking around the room to check for his father. Nothing. He wipes his face, trying to calm himself down by taking deep breaths. It felt so  _ real _ . He truly felt like his father was there and was going to hurt him.

 

He glances at his digital clock, the numbers  _ 2:28 _ glaring back at him. He swallows a lump in his throat and lies back down. He stares at his ceiling, doing every grounding exercise he can think of. He names every single country in the world in alphabetical order, he lists the alphabet backwards twice, and even comes up with his own riddles.

 

_ A man while looking at a photograph said, "Brothers and sisters have I none. That man's father is my father's son. Who is the person in the photograph? _

 

Ed's mind goes to his own father. Joseph Nashton is a skilled dentist, but a horrible husband and an even worse father. He repeatedly physically, verbally, and psychologically abused both Ed and his mother. However, his mother often fought back, and on occasion, joined her husband in the torture of their son.

 

Joseph refused to acknowledge Ed's above average intelligence. When Ed did a subpar job at school, he was an idiot, but if he did incredible, he cheated. If the younger ever tried to argue, his father had different ways of getting him to shut up: he'd have Ed get a stick from the backyard which he'd then hit the boy with, he'd get a wooden cooking spoon from the kitchen to hit Ed, he used the belt on more than one occasion, and sometimes just used his hands and feet.

 

Ed shakes his head vigorously and taps his forehead again, a little harder this time. "Stop. Don't think about it. You're safe. You’re okay now, Ed."

 

He's not okay. He subconsciously admitted that he enjoyed killing Dougherty and that he wanted to do it again, even after Terrance Coleman. Something that really stuck is his dreamed up version of his father asking if Ed wanted to kill  _ him _ … And he said yes.

 

Ed smiles ever so slightly at the thought of murdering his father. Maybe he'd go traditional: stab him to death. Not only is it super personal, but a lot slower than other ways. It can get a little messy though. Strangulation is an exciting thought as well. Although, it takes between four and six minutes to kill someone with manual strangulation, even longer depending on the murderer's physical strength and whether or not the victim is struggling.

 

He decides if he's going to kill his father, he's going to do it in a more creative and painful way. A way that reflects how he’s suffered all his life because of that sick man. Ed hasn't had much practice though, he's only killed two people.

 

That settles it. Ed is going to kill Joseph Nashton, but he won't until he perfects his craft. Until he finds the perfect method, the perfect environment, the perfect riddle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave me comments!! i love them a lot!!! :))

**Author's Note:**

> Plot consistency? Never heard of her.
> 
> Please leave me comments, I thrive off attention.


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